by Sophie Moss
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, tightly.
“How odd,” Maggie murmured, turning a flower over in her hand.
“Alright,” Dominic said, pushing back from the bar. “I’ve heard enough.” Turning, he marched into the kitchen and scanned the room. “Where’s Tara?”
“She just went back to her cottage to grab a cookbook,” Caitlin answered. “Why?”
“I need to talk to her,” Dominic said, striding out the back door and up the path to her cottage. Sunlight slid in slices over the mossy blanket of lime, emerald, and evergreen, changing color every time a cloud passed under the sun. Sheep grazed on the hillsides. Stone walls cut through the fields. The ocean glistened and danced, curling in turquoise waves over the white shoreline.
But it was the cottage that had his eyes going wide as he climbed the final hill. Scarlet roses swallowed the white walls, curling high enough to tangle with the thatch on the roof, climbing around the sides of the house.
Walking slowly the rest of the way up to the cottage, he snapped off a ruby red flower, and held it up to his nose. When the air cracked and snapped, he saw Tara open the door to the cottage and he took a step toward her, but then stopped when his feet turned to lead and the flower fell from his hand.
The woman who walked out of the house had Tara’s face, and the same dark hair, but it fell in rich waves down to her waist. She had the same emerald eyes but they were filled with a deep shattering sadness. Her skin was so pale he could almost see through it. And something inside him told him that when he tried to touch her, there’d be nothing there.
As Dominic continued to look at her, a heart-wrenching grief settled deep in his bones. He tried to tear his eyes away, but couldn’t. And when the woman reached out and plucked a rose from the vine, Dominic saw the thin webbing between each finger. He saw the seaweed that snaked up her forearms, like chains, and the silvery minnows that flopped over the earth by her feet, gasping for the seawater that dripped from her sleeves.
Her slender fingers reached out, plucking another rose from the vine. And as the petals dried and cracked and turned black in her hand, Dominic watched as she turned her palm over, and the ashes fell to the ground, scorching the wet earth at her feet.
In the steam that rose from the ashes Dominic watched an image form. Tara’s limp, lifeless body lay face-down on the sand, the surf crashing over her broken, twisted limbs. He watched himself run across the beach, hauling her from the water. But when he turned her over, cradling her in his arms, sick black bruises circled her neck. Tearing his eyes from the vision, he looked back at where the woman had been standing. But all that was left of the selkie was a puddle of seawater and a dozen dead minnows floating on the surface.
***
Caitlin looked up from the sink when Tara walked back into the kitchen. “Did you see Dominic?”
“No.”
“That’s odd,” she said. “He went to your house looking for you.”
Tara’s gaze snapped up to Caitlin’s. “Why? What did he want?”
“I don’t know,” Caitlin said, taking in Tara’s suddenly pale face. “Are you okay?”
Tara nodded, but her hands shook as she slid the apron over her head.
“You don’t look so good,” Caitlin said, turning to face her.
“I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
“Why don’t you sit down for a minute? Get off your feet?”
Tara shook her head, reaching for a potato peeler. “It’ll pass.”
Caitlin watched Tara slice into the potato, narrowly missing her finger and walking over, she pried the sharp instrument from Tara’s hand and laid it on the counter. “Sit,” she ordered, pushing her toward the chair.
Tara sank into it, dropping her head into her hands.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just need a minute. I’ll be fine.”
“Why don’t you go home and rest? I can finish up here. Maybe you just need a little time off.”
“No.” Tara shook her head. “I just need to sit for a minute.”
“You’ve been working around the clock for three days now.”
Tara lifted her head. “I’m used to working hard.”
“But you’re trying to learn a new skill, one that doesn’t come naturally to you.”
“I can handle it.”
“I’m not saying you can’t, but we all need a break from time to time. To give our bodies and minds a rest so we can start fresh.”
“I don’t need a break, Caitlin. I just need a second to clear my head.”
Concerned, Caitlin knelt beside her. “Are you sleeping okay?”
Tara nodded.
Caitlin studied the other woman’s haunted eyes. “Is it Dominic, then?”
Dominic. Tara’s mouth went dry. She grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the counter and slapped it onto the back of her neck.
Caitlin’s eyes went wide when she saw the steam rising off Tara’s skin. “You’re burning up.”
“I know,” Tara scooped a handful of ice from her glass and rubbed it up and down her arms, trying to cool the heat sizzling through her veins. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Are you getting sick?”
“I don’t know,” Tara pushed to her feet, walked to the sink and splashed cold water over her face. “I’ve never felt like this before.”
“Do you think…?” Caitlin trailed off as the door to the pub swung open and muffled voices drifted in from the barroom. She watched Tara’s head jerk toward the sound of Dominic’s voice and his heavy footsteps echoing up the stairs.
She took in the strange pink steam rising off Tara’s skin. The scent of roses and saltwater radiated off her in waves. “It’s him,” Caitlin marveled. “It’s Dominic, isn’t it?”
Tara shook her head. No. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
“Did something happen between you?”
“No.”
“Then…what? Is it something else? Someone else?” Glenna’s words pushed their way into Caitlin’s mind. ‘Someone hurt her, Caitlin. And he’s after her. What do you think she’s doing here?’ Taking a deep breath, Caitlin stood and walked over to the sink. She laid a comforting hand on Tara’s shoulder. “Did someone hurt you, Tara?”
The backhand came fast and hard and out of nowhere. Sydney’s head snapped back and she reached for the chair to get her balance. Philip kicked it out from under her and she fell, splitting her lip on the hard, mahogany wood of the table.
“I saw you with Dr. Morris today, Sydney.”
Cupping her hand over her mouth to catch the blood, she shook her head, scrambling away from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh?” Fisting a rough hand in her hair, he yanked her head up. “You don’t remember talking to Dr. Morris?”
Blood dripped down her chin and Sydney struggled to remember. “The oncologist?” she said in a thin voice, her breathing shallow as her fingers dug into the white carpet.
“That’s the one,” Philip said, pleasantly. He smashed the back of his hand into her face.
She cried out, but he grabbed another fistful of hair and yanked her face back to his. “Did you enjoy your talk?”
“It was about a patient,” she whispered, her voice shaking and her eyes following the hand that slid onto the table.
“What did you talk about, Sydney?”
“N-nothing,” she whispered. “Please. It was nothing.”
“Did you tell him you wanted to fuck him?”
Sydney shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes as she tried to back away from him.
“You wanted to, didn’t you, you slut.”
Something flashed in his hand and Sydney’s heart stopped when she saw the knife he’d pulled from the table.
“Did you fuck him, Sydney? Did you fuck him, like you fuck me?”
“No!” she cried, claw
ing at his skin when he came toward her with the knife.
“Do you want to fuck me now, Sydney?”
“Tara!” Caitlin shook her arm. “Tara! Snap out of it!”
When Tara finally turned, lifting her blank eyes to Caitlin, all the color had drained from her face. Her hands were like icicles. Her fingers were turning blue and her breath came out in little foggy puffs.
“You need a doctor,” Caitlin said, reaching for the phone. “I’ll call the captain. Tell him to hold the ferry.”
Tara’s cold fingers grabbed Caitlin’s and she forced out a laugh. “I don’t need a doctor.”
“But—” Caitlin protested.
Tara shook her head, pushing to her feet and crossing the room to the stove.
Caitlin watched her switch on the gas and slide the chopped potatoes into the pot of water. But Glenna’s words pushed back into her mind. ‘She brings trouble.’ To whom, Caitlin wondered. To herself? To Dominic? Or to all of them?
Chapter 6
Philip Carter tapped the business card against his desk, letting it slide through his long fingers, tap, tap, tapping it over and over as the sound slowly drove him mad. His blood boiled as he thought of the incompetent fools chasing after his wife. They were starting to look at him like he was crazy.
Like he was crazy!
Philip’s fingers dug into the leather armrests. They told him to give up, to move on, to accept the idea that she was never coming back.
He would never give up.
Not when his wife wasn’t dead. Not when they’d never found her body. He was a man of science. Of medicine. He refused to accept this as one of those sad, unexplainable tragedies.
His wife hadn’t died in that flood.
She had run from him.
The bitch had fooled him. She was out there somewhere. Hiding. Laughing at him. Probably fucking someone else right now.
The whore.
He’d given her everything. A penthouse apartment, drawers full of jewels. He’d connected her with all the right people, practically made her friends for her.
When she fumbled, when she made a mistake, he was the one who made sure she got back on track. He was the one who made sure she recognized what she’d done wrong, and understood what would happen if she did it again. He had helped her become the woman she wanted to become.
And then the little bitch had run from him.
She’d tried once before. He thought he’d made it clear what would happen if she tried again. He thought she’d learned her lesson.
He’d been wrong.
His fingers drummed against the leather. A week after they released her from the hospital, she’d run from him again.
The bitch!
He seized the tumbler of brandy, the hot sticky liquor burning his throat as his fingers curled around the glass. He’d find her. And this time, he’d make her suffer for the pain, for the humiliation she put him through. His gaze slid back to the business card.
Sam Holt, Private Investigator.
Sam Holt was the man you went to if you wanted someone found. He never lost a case. He never came back empty handed. And he disappeared like smoke when he connected his client with their find.
He was exactly who Philip was looking for.
Picking up the phone, Philip started to dial. He pictured his wife, imagined the expression on her face when he found her, and for the first time in weeks, he smiled.
***
Tara glanced up from a bowl of lumpy cake batter when the back door opened and Kelsey walked into the kitchen.
“Have you seen my dad?”
Tara shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since this morning.”
“He was supposed to meet me after school. I guess he forgot.” She wandered into the kitchen, glancing up at the pint glasses full of the same red roses that were all over the pub now. “Where’s Caitlin?”
“I think she’s at Glenna’s, but should be back soon. Do you want me to call her for you?”
Kelsey shook her head. “That’s okay.” She pulled a rose out of one of the pint glasses, let it roll around in her fingers. “I’ve never seen roses this big before.”
“Neither have I,” Tara admitted.
“Where did they come from?”
“My garden.”
“Did you plant them?”
Tara shook her head.
“Then how did they get there?”
“I’m not sure,” Tara admitted.
“Maybe my dad planted them.”
“Maybe.”
Kelsey held the flower up to her face, wrinkled her nose. “They smell funny.”
“Funny how?”
“Strange. Not like normal roses. They smell… bad.”
Tara set down her spoon. “You think they smell bad?”
Kelsey nodded, putting the rose back in the water.
“Do other people think they smell bad?”
Kelsey nodded.
Tara stared at the roses as Kelsey wandered over to the stove, peering into the bowl.
“What are you making?”
“Gingerbread cake,” Tara answered absently, wondering why the roses smelled perfectly fine to her when others were having such a strong reaction them.
Kelsey picked up the spoon, poked at the mixture. “It looks like you forgot something.”
“I probably did,” Tara admitted, finally turning away from the flowers.
“Did you remember the sugar?”
“Yes.”
“The salt?”
“I think so.”
“The lemon juice?”
Tara walked over to the cookbook. “I don’t think the recipe calls for lemon juice.”
“It’ll be better if you add it.” Kelsey went to the mini-fridge under the counter and pulled out a lemon. Walking back to the bowl, she handed the lemon to Tara.
Tara took the lemon, staring at the fridge in the corner where Kelsey had just been.
“You didn’t know that was there, did you?”
Tara shook her head.
“I think you could use an assistant.”
Tara blew out a breath. “I think I could use ten.”
Kelsey went to the sink and rolled up her sleeves. “I’m going to be your assistant.”
***
Pushing open the door to the pub, Dominic headed for the stairs. He’d gone down to the docks to help Donal pull in his catch from the day, but after an hour of hard labor he still couldn’t shake the terrible image of Tara washed up on the beach. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard the laughter—his daughter’s laughter—drifting out of the kitchen.
Wasn’t Kelsey supposed to be at Ashling’s this afternoon? Changing direction, he crossed the empty barroom and pushed open the door to the kitchen.
“See,” Kelsey said to Tara, their backs to the door. “This is what it’s supposed to look like.”
Tara poked at the gingerbread cake with a fork. “How do you know?”
Kelsey took the fork from her hand, slid it into the center of the fluffy cake and pulled it back out. “See how nothing comes out on the fork? That’s how you know it’s done.”
“How come it doesn’t look like that when I make it?”
“Because you’re hopeless,” Kelsey said, poking Tara in the arm with the fork and giggling.
Dominic stepped into the room, clearing his throat. “What’s going on in here?”
“Dad!” Kelsey turned, skipping across the kitchen to her father. “I taught Tara how to make grandma’s gingerbread cake!”
“I see that,” Dominic said, his expression tight. “I thought Caitlin was supposed to be teaching Tara how to cook.”
“She ran over to Glenna’s for a while,” Tara explained, watching Dominic’s strong arm hook around his daughter’s shoulders protectively.
“How long has she been gone?”
“Not that long,” Tara said, losing patience. “We were only baking a cake.”
“And we haven’t finished the icing ye
t,” Kelsey cut in.
“Caitlin can help Tara finish the icing,” Dominic said.
“But, Dad!”
“But, nothing. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were going to Ashling’s after school?”
“That was yesterday.” Kelsey crossed her arms over her chest. “Today you were supposed to meet me and Mrs. Gallagher to talk about my math test.”
“That was today?”
Kelsey nodded.
Dominic dragged a hand through his hair. He’d forgotten to meet with his daughter’s teacher? What was the matter with him? “Why don’t you run back to the school and see if she’s still there. I can meet you over there in ten minutes.”
“Why don’t you just walk over with me now?”
“I want to talk to Tara first.”
“Why?”
“Just do what I say, Kelsey.”
When Kelsey put her hands on her hips, Dominic sighed. “If you leave us alone, I’ll buy you the bracelet you keep looking at in Sarah Dooley’s window.”
Kelsey’s eyes lit up. “You will?”
“Yes.”
“Okay!” She reached up and hugged her dad then scampered out the door. “Bye, Tara!”
As soon as the door closed behind her, Tara turned to Dominic. “Bribery?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“She was just helping me bake a cake.”
“I don’t want her helping you in the kitchen.” And he didn’t want her anywhere near Tara after what he saw outside her cottage this afternoon.
“Why not?” Tara faced him, frustrated. “She knows her way around the kitchen. She must help your grandmother back here all the time.”
“She does.”
“Then what’s the big deal?”
“I told you. I don’t want her around you.”
“You don’t mind when she spends time with Caitlin or Glenna.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I trust Caitlin. I trust Glenna.”
“This is a small pub, Dominic. She’s bound to run into me from time to time.”
Dominic shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”
***
Long after the pub closed for the night, Tara made her way down the moonlit path to the beach. She kicked off her sneakers, letting her toes curl into the sand and wading into the cold April waters. She listened to the ocean surge, crashing against the rocks. And in the inky blackness, she felt the pull like a finger crooking around her waist, drawing her deeper into the dark waters.